Molly's Special Day
by melsthewhovian
Summary: Molly Hooper is used to being ignored, but, today, it's finally getting to her.


There was dinner and then there was dinner. Neither prospect enthused Molly, but she'd much rather have a casual dinner at home rather than go out to a fancy restaurant. Still, her mother and uncle wanted to celebrate and she supposed she should just be happy to have some people in her life that cared. As she packed up the remainder of her things, she noticed a shadow lurking in the hallway outside her office.

She stifled a smile and checked her reflection in the darkened computer screen. She sighed a little bit at her slightly frazzled hair and tired eyes, but knowing she could do nothing about it, she straightened up and stepped through her door.

He was lurking in the hallway, glancing around and trying to look nonchalant.

"Hello, Sherlock," she said with an awkward smile.

"Molly! Just the person I wanted to see. Do you think I might have a look-see in the morgue. They fellows upstairs wouldn't let me in. They said I'd have to talk to the person in charge."

"I'm—I'm just on my way out."

"Oh, that's alright. Just unlock the door and I'll see myself out."

"I'm not really supposed to do that."

"Molly. . ."

"No. I'm sorry, but I really must be going." She turned and headed toward the exit.

"Molly, is that a new sweater?"

"Yes." She said turning around. "I got it last week."

"It looks very nice on you. Brings out your eyes."

"Pink's not really my color."

"Well, I like it."

"Thanks, but I really do have to be going."

He stood in the hallway, watching her walk away with a dumbfounded look on his face. She frowned as she continued on her way.

Molly stopped by Lestrade's office on her way out. He was reading the newspaper.

"What is it?" He asked without lowering the paper.

"Sir, Sherlock's wanting in the morgue."

"Yeah?"

"Do you think you might have someone free who can keep an eye on him. I really have to be going."

"Kinda busy here at the moment, Molly. That's why I sent him down to you."

"I can't stay. I'm meeting my parents for dinner."

"Well, we have a murder spree on at the moment."

She glanced behind her and saw a general hub of unactivity.

"Alright, sir. Whatever you say."

She walked away and wondered why Lestrade never once dropped his paper.

At the restaurant, her mother and uncle sat across from her politely making small talk while she pushed her carrots around with her fork.

"How was work today, darling?"

"Same as always, mum. Thankfully, not as many dead bodies as last Monday, though."

"Dead bodies, eh? Had any strange ones lately?" asked her uncle.

"Not at the table." His sister gently chided.

Molly sighed, dropping her fork, and turning to the wine instead. She took a slow sip and tried not to cringe as her mother wiped a piece of chicken off her brother's chin.

"Have you had any more sales, mum?" Molly asked, breaking up the proceedings.

"Five since last week. Herbal soaps are doing much better than the painted tea balls. I'm even working on some new scents. One has basil and lemon and another cardamom. All the ladies at book club want to test them out. Thankfully, there's been no more rashes since the Mrs. Dunburry incident."

"That's good. That's really good for you."

"Maybe you should try out something crafty, dear. It's always good to be handy at something."

"I do knit."

"Yes, but not very well in the grand scheme of things. Perhaps you should trying creative baking instead. Marianne gave me this wonderful book filled with unusual cupcake recipes. . ."

Molly took final swig of her wine and looked around for a waiter who might fill her up again.

That evening, Molly returned to her cramped flat slightly bleary eyed and firm in the knowledge that she would have a dreadful headache in the morning.

She collapsed on the couch and flipped open her laptop. Within a few clicks, she was already checking out John Watson's blog and the other updates on crime in her neck of the woods. Her mother always thought it was a bit morbid that she brought her work home with her, but Molly didn't mind. She liked to keep informed. Better to be prepared than taken unawares.

As she sorted through the news, she tried to ignore the weighty feeling pressing down on her chest. After a few more sites, she realized neither alcohol, food, or distraction was going to keep away the tears tonight.

This day was always difficult, but, somehow, today was even worse than normal. Maybe it was because that, while she was making progress with work, she wasn't doing too well interpersonally. She didn't even have any good friends to meet up with for drinks or dessert after dinner with her mother. She didn't have anyone but her mother to celebrate with. It was beginning to get overly depressing. She was old enough now that she should have girlfriends or a boyfriend that she who would celebrate with her on her birthday. She should even have some work friends who might fill out a card or give her a cake at lunch.

But no. Molly had none of that. What she had was a bunch of people in her life that didn't even think about her when she was out of their presence.

With tears falling down her cheeks, Molly flopped down on the couch. She knew she was being silly, indulging her moping, but it was her birthday and she felt that gave her the right if nothing else did.

She noticed a klenex box through bleary eyes and reached for it. As she grabbed at it, she noticed a little light blinking on her computer screen. She dabbed at her eyes and blindly tapped at the keyboard until the right screen came up.

There was an e-mail from John Watson. She opened it.

Happy Birthday Molly!

Sorry, I didn't get down to the office in time today to give you the gift Sherlock and I picked out for you. Sherlock made a slight fire in the flat that had to be dealt with before I could leave home, and you were already gone by the time I got down to the station. Not a good excuse for missing your special day. Sorry. I just wanted you to know all the same that we didn't forget about you. I hope you had a pleasant day.

Best wishes,

John

Molly read through the e-mail one more time as the tears slowly dried from her eyes. By the end of her second read through, the weight in her chest had lifted just enough to allow her to think that maybe, just maybe, this birthday wasn't quite so bad as she thought.


End file.
